Waiting for Old Winter

The voices of the breeze,
Whisper its threats;
The trees speak back,
With creakings and cracks.

Old Winter comes slowly,
At a crawl it seems;
I wait for him patiently,
He and his family.

Frost is here already,
Snow is with Winter;
Rain hasn’t left yet,
And Cold is getting bitter.

The trees and breeze,
Discuss Old Winter;
They wait for him patiently,
Hoping he’ll come quicker.

(Yes. If you’re wondering if I’m ready for winter, the answer is, yes.)